


Of a single soul

by evie_everyday



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur doesn't want to find a queen, Canon Era, Conversations under the stars, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Getting Together, Golden Age, Gwaine makes an obligatory appearance, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Oh yes it's back to the hometown with the hubby, POV Merlin, Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Someone gets pushed out of bed, They visit Ealdor, Though let's face it they're already married, and it ain't merlin, and while cooking, both of these men are disasters, but it's not becasue he's still in love with gwen MERLIN, hunith is so proud of her son and his idiot husband, just some good ol' domesticity for all you lonely people, only for a scene though, plants really love merlin, who let them break bread together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evie_everyday/pseuds/evie_everyday
Summary: Things are going pretty well for Merlin and Arthur. They've brought peace to the five kingdoms, magic is no longer shadowed by tyranny, and everyone is generally having a good time. Only, Merlin is pretty sure Arthur's going to pack his bags and run away in the middle of the night if one more person asks him why he hasn't taken a queen yet.They decide to take a few days and travel to Ealdor so Arthur can get away from some of the pressure of being Camelot's king. But little does Merlin know, the revelations they'll have while they're there will follow them back to Camelot and beyond.In which Arthur tries to be a farmer but ends up more as Merlin's slightly useless house husband.One-shot
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 812





	Of a single soul

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, another pining Arthur fic. But this time, from the perspective of Merlin's oblivious ass. You guys have been so incredible in your response to the first fic I posted, so thank you to everyone who read it and left kudos!! This one is my take on the "Arthur becomes a farmer for a few days" trope, so let me know what you think!
> 
> The title of this one comes from the Aristotle quote, "Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies." I think that describes Merlin and Arthur pretty well lol. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

It starts with one moment, one ridiculously small moment when they’re sitting in a council meeting and one of the old men Merlin hasn’t bothered to learn the name of is asking why Arthur has yet to take a queen.

Merlin still finds it odd to be seated at the table instead of standing behind it, but it isn’t a bad kind of odd. It’s easier to make his opinion known when he can speak in the council, but he almost misses the days when he would catch Arthur’s eye and give an over dramatic eye roll or eyebrow quirk to let him know exactly what he thought.

But today, while the tedious old man is chastising him about the need to have a strong public image, Arthur’s eyes flick to him for just a moment, the same way they used to for so many years.

Unlike all the times before, there’s something unreadable to Merlin in the glance, and he finds himself turning it over in his mind as soon as Arthur’s eyes leave his.

Then the irritating lump of a man says something about how displeased Uther would be with everything Arthur has done since he became king, and Arthur snaps.

“Last time I checked, Lord Rediker, I was the king and my father was long dead.” The words cut through the air like a well-thrown knife, and Merlin has to hide the concern in his face when he looks to Arthur. 

He looks tired, in a way he normally reserves for when there is no one there but Merlin to see. Merlin extends his leg to brush Arthur’s under the table, and something inside him hurts when Arthur pulls his away roughly. 

“If there are no more matters to discuss other than my lack of an engagement, I believe we are ready to disband,” Arthur says, and after a brief argument about which allies to invite to Camelot for the harvest festival in a month, the council members are standing to leave. 

Merlin tries to follow him, but he’s brushed off with a wave of his hand. He watches Arthur’s back as he goes and for a moment feels like he’s lost in the tall ceilings of the council room.

Then Gwaine claps him on the shoulder, and he feels grounded once again. 

“Have I done something wrong?” 

Gwaine shakes his head as if Merlin’s question is absurd. “You, Merls? You’re the most law abiding citizen I know, I hardly think you’re capable of doing anything wrong.” 

Merlin laughs and shoves him off. “When will you let that go?” It sounds a bit whiny, even to him, but Gwaine’s grin doesn’t wane. 

“When you finally apologize for spending years as a top-tier criminal without letting me in on the game.”

Merlin shoves him again. “First of all, it wasn’t a game. And secondly, why would I apologize for not making you guilty of treason? I’m not going to apologize.” 

Gwaine throws his arm over his shoulder and holds on tighter this time. “And that is why I will have teasing rights until the Princess’s hair is grey and falling out in massive clumps in the bath.” 

Merlin tries to look put out but laughs at the image. 

Gwaine squeezes him. “Whatever the Princess is pissy about, it’s probably not you. And you’re not his servant anymore, so you don’t have anything to do the rest of the day. Come to the tavern?” 

Merlin shakes his head. “If I don’t figure out what’s got his panties in a bunch, he’ll get worse and fire his manservant again.” 

Gwaine grins, but Merlin sees slight disappointment in his eyes. “What did poor George ever do to him?” 

“Put his clothes away properly? Brought him breakfast on time?” Gwaine laughs loudly, and Merlin is suddenly very pleased this ridiculous man decided to stay in Camelot all those years ago.

“The nerve.” He releases Merlin and turns so they’re face to face. “If he throws anything at you, tell me and I’ll replace all his underthings with my dirty socks.”

“You’re a child,” Merlin says, but he’s smiling when Gwaine bids him farewell and Merlin promises to join him at the tavern soon.

Merlin doesn’t spend all day with Arthur like he used to, but recently, they’ve spent more and more evenings together, eating and talking like they never quite could when Merlin was his servant.

Something changed between them when Arthur learned about his magic, and despite the years of nightmares that plagued Merlin, it has not been for the worse. It almost feels like he is Arthur’s equal now, both leaders of their people in their own rights. 

He’d thought it would be strange to transition between manservant and court advisor and sorcerer, but it mostly feels like he’s settling into a place he was always meant to be.

He doesn’t bother to knock when he reaches Arthur’s chambers since he knows he will probably be refused entry (despite Arthur’s claims Merlin doesn’t know how to knock, he is perfectly capable when he wants to be), the door creaking slightly as he pushes it open.

“Arthur?” He’s leaning against the wall by the window, his eyes unfocused as they scan the sky past the walls of the citadel. 

He doesn’t blink as Merlin closes the door behind him and comes to his side.

“You alright?” 

Arthur finally glances towards him but takes a few moments to say anything. 

“I suppose I’m just feeling horribly selfish today,” he concedes quietly, and Merlin frowns at the sadness in the words. 

“Selfish?” 

Arthur’s head makes a small thump when he rests it against the stone wall. “I know that I have been given a gift in inheriting the responsibility of Camelot. It is my duty and my honor to serve her.” His voice trails off, and Merlin (again, despite Arthur thinking he’s incapable of it) stays silent as he collects his thoughts.

“But sometimes it feels so...suffocating to bear such a burden. Today Camelot has greater peace than can be remembered in five lifetimes, but I still feel as though it will come crashing down if I breathe incorrectly.” 

Merlin takes the opportunity to sit on the edge of the table, his eyes resting on Arthur’s sullen face. 

“ _ You _ have brought that peace, Arthur. And it’s not the fragile peace that you fear it is. This is the kind of peace that will last for a long time to come.”

Arthur’s eyes leave the sky and fall on Merlin’s. The unreadable expression is there again, like Arthur wants badly to tell him something but can’t, and Merlin pushes himself off the table.

“You’re a good king, Arthur. That’s why you feel such a weight on your shoulders.” He gently grips Arthur’s forearm with his fingers. 

Arthur looks to where their skin touches for a silent moment before closing his eyes and leaning back against the window. “I can remember telling Guinevere once that I sometimes dreamed of running off with you and becoming a farmer.” It’s been a long time since he’s mentioned Gwen, and Merlin doesn’t want to ruin that by interrupting, even if he’s burning to say that Arthur would make a terrible farmer.

“Do you remember when we went to Ealdor, to help your mother after it was raided?” He opens his eyes again, and Merlin offers a small smile.

“How could I forget?” 

Arthur returns the smile, like it pleases him to think about the early adventure of theirs. Merlin’s hand is still on his forearm, but Arthur doesn’t do anything to pull away and Merlin is perfectly happy to keep it there.

“I thought I would hate it, living in a place like that, when we were there.”

“I think you told me as much,” Merlin replies, and Arthur gives a half-hearted shrug.

“It was probably true, then.” 

Then. 

“And now?”

Arthur looks away, back out the window. “It seems like a life where the only concern is finding your next meal is one of great freedom. Where you don’t have to worry about treaties and alliances and trade deals and nobleman throwing their daughters at you like they’re prized horses.” 

“With the days of incessant hunger and nights of cold that ache to the bone?” Merlin says gently, and Arthur sighs. 

“I know. I know it’s not as easy as I make it out to be. I just...is it so awful to wish to build a simple life where I only have to worry about keeping those I care about safe?” Merlin smiles at him.

“Of course not.” He finally pulls his fingers away and settles his shoulder against the wall so he’s mirroring Arthur. Arthur gives him the unreadable expression, all hard eyes that soften when he looks at them long enough and lips pursed in self-inflicted muteness, as they stand before each other.

There’s something tender in the moment, and Merlin doesn’t want to break it. So he stands, patiently, waiting for Arthur to.

Arthur seems to have the same idea, so they stay in silence for a long time.

It’s Merlin that finally opens his mouth to speak. “I’ve been meaning to go see my mother. I know it’s not the same as running away with me,” Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the words, “but maybe you could come with me. It isn’t harvest yet, so there won’t be too much to do, but it’ll be better than listening to Lord Rediker talk about you like you’re a prize mare he’s trying to mate off.” Arthur opens his mouth to protest the analogy but stops when Merlin flashes a cheeky grin. “Spend a few days in Ealdor, take a break from all of this.” 

“I can’t—“

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice is eerily reminiscent of Gaius as he says it. “There are no threats on Camelot’s horizon. I think the council can handle disputes over cabbage patches and chickens on their own for a week.” 

Arthur looks conflicted, like there are factors involved in the decision that Merlin doesn’t know about. He nudges Arthur’s foot with his own, pulling away from the wall and going to the table where supper has been laid out.

“You’re all talk about free living and manual labor until it’s actually a possibility, aren’t you? Worried you’ll get a bit of dirt on your face?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says heatedly, but he’s smiling again. 

**

Two weeks later, they’re riding into Ealdor for the longest trip the council will be able to manage without them (three nights in Ealdor, since Arthur insists being gone for longer than a week will end in the fall of Camelot). 

The Look, as Merlin has dubbed it, has only appeared more frequently in the past few days. He thinks Arthur would steal a horse from the stables and make good on his daydream of running away if Merlin hadn’t convinced him to visit Ealdor. 

The summer heat is at its worst, but it’s better here than in Camelot and that only means the nights will be refreshingly cool.

Merlin gives Arthur a teasing smile when Hunith doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around Arthur’s neck and say how proud she is of him, and Arthur’s blush is worth the light shove he gives Merlin when he goes to tie back the horses. 

After they’ve settled in (featuring one argument about who gets the side of the bed without the giant lump and two arguments about which one of them will help with dinner and which will go draw water from the well), Hunith sets the table and they sit down to eat.

“How are things back in Camelot?” Hunith asks, her pointed look at Merlin saying the “because you haven’t told me much in your letters” part silently. 

Merlin gives his mother a “who, me?” smile and sets down his fork. “It’s more peaceful than it has been in recent memory.” The proud look he throws at Arthur earns him a light kick under the table. Hunith watches them, the curiosity clear on her face.

“No more strange creature’s blood to wash out of Arthur’s clothes, then?” 

Arthur’s lips part in surprise. “He didn’t tell you about his new title?” Hunith raises her eyebrows in the same manner as Gaius tends to when he’s particularly put out.

“No, he didn’t.” 

Arthur shakes his head with exaggerated disappointment. “Are you ashamed to be my court sorcerer, Merlin?” Hunith’s gasp is audible.

“Court sorcerer? Why didn’t you tell me? Merlin, that’s fantastic! I can’t believe—I’m so proud of you.” Arthur smirks as Merlin’s ears turn pink, returning his favor from earlier. 

“Yes, well. It’s mostly Arthur’s fault, so you should probably be heaping praises onto him.”

Hunith laughs and shakes her head. “If someone had told me, when you first came back all those years ago, that you would be sitting here today, having accomplished so much, I scarcely would have believed them.” 

After they clean up from supper, Merlin takes Arthur to one of the open fields on the outskirts of the village. They lie on their backs, Merlin’s head resting next to Arthur’s, and stare at the stars. 

They swap childhood stories and take turns making up tales. Merlin tells of an evil troll named Katlina (“No, Arthur, this isn’t about the time your father married a troll!”) and Arthur gives an entirely inaccurate account of how a young prince demolished the village idiot Marlin (“No, Merlin, Marlin is an entirely different name. It has an a.”) in a mace fight. 

Merlin hasn’t heard Arthur laugh so freely in a long time, and he’s already dreading the day they go back to Camelot. 

They’re quiet for awhile, and Merlin whispers to the darkness, “I’ve been thinking of going to find Aithusa.” 

Arthur is still next to him, and for a moment, Merlin wonders if he’s fallen asleep. 

Then he turns his head to the side. “You would leave Camelot?” 

There’s a hurt in his voice that Merlin expects but isn’t ready for. He looks at the grass growing by the top of Arthur’s head so he doesn’t have to look at his face.

“I failed her, Arthur. I was so busy with everything else that I left her to fend for herself. I practically threw her into Morgana’s arms.” 

His eyes find Arthur’s face again when he whispers, “How long do you think it would take?” even though there’s no one around to hear them. 

“Weeks, at least. Probably months.” He can see the word flitting through Arthur’s eyes. Weeks on his own. Months without Merlin by his side. “She’s the last of her kind, Arthur. As I’m the last of mine.” 

The silence is enough to tell Merlin that Arthur knows he has to go but doesn’t want him to, and that he doesn’t know how to say he wants Merlin to stay. 

“Have you ever thought about finding someone to settle down with? A...wife? Getting married, having a family?” Arthur asks a few minutes later. 

Merlin is quiet for a moment, because he hadn’t realized that he doesn’t think of such things until now. 

“I’m content,” he finally replies, and once again, Arthur gets The Look on his face. They’re close enough that Merlin can feel the soft puff of Arthur’s breath on his skin, and he nearly falls asleep because of it. 

“We should go back,” Arthur says as Merlin’s eyelids begin to droop shut, and the moment ends.

**

The next morning, Arthur’s already awake when Merlin stirs. The bed is absurdly small for them to be sharing, but after so many hunts and quests and rescue missions, it isn’t anything new to sleep side-by-side. 

Merlin only realizes Arthur is awake when he starts to push himself up and hears Arthur’s breathing stop, and for a brief moment he wonders why Arthur didn’t wake him.

“Morning,” he murmurs, and Arthur finally acknowledges him.

“Morning.” 

This is nothing like the many mornings Merlin had to drag Arthur out of bed kicking and screaming. This feels almost lazy, like they plan to stay in bed and sleep the morning away. 

Merlin takes the opportunity to lightly push Arthur, but he overestimates how much room they have and Arthur topples onto the floor.

“Merlin!” Merlin presses one hand over Arthur’s mouth and one hand over his own to contain his laughter.

“Don’t you dare wake my mother,” he hisses, and the wide eyes Arthur gives him at being silenced in such a manner nearly make Merlin wake her himself with his laughter.

Before he knows what’s happening, Arthur yanks on his wrist so he’s flung onto the floor with him. Merlin’s breath gets knocked out of him in surprise, but he half-lands on Arthur and knocks his breath out as well.

“You know what? I’m beheading you,” Arthur grumbles as he tugs the blanket off of the bed and resettles himself on the floor. 

Merlin doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to move, so Arthur throws the blanket over him as well and shuts his eyes.

Neither of them mean to actually go back to sleep, but when Merlin next opens his eyes, the sun has risen.

He rolls over to see Hunith at the stove, giving him an amused look. “Do I dare ask what happened?” 

“Probably not,” Merlin says with a grin, and then he pushes the blanket off of himself. 

Arthur wakes up as Hunith has just left and Merlin is setting the table for breakfast. “Mum wants me to give you her sincerest apologies that she won’t be around much today. She’s going with a friend to collect some seasonal herbs.”

“I’m going to have you beheaded,” Arthur grumbles as he stands, and Merlin throws him an amused smirk.

“You’ve mentioned that. Do you want me on my knees or should I take it standing?” Arthur chokes on his water he grabbed from the table when the words come out of Merlin’s mouth, and Merlin can’t contain his laughter as he thumps him on the back. 

“Merlin!” Arthur finally manages, and it’s so easy to fluster him that it takes all Merlin’s willpower not to say something equally scandalous in response.

“I meant when you behead me, you clot.” His hand lingers on Arthur’s back even after he stops coughing, and it’s another moment before he returns to the stove.

He serves out some porridge to Arthur in a wooden bowl. 

“My mother is very grateful for the generous amount of honeycomb you gifted her.” 

Arthur raises his eyebrows as he blows on the apparently honey-sweetened porridge. “And by me, you mean the honeycomb you stole from the kitchens?” 

Merlin gives him a cheeky grin and shrugs. “Perhaps.” 

“You do realize you don’t have to steal things from the kitchen anymore? You can have anything you ask for.” Merlin thinks the words came out more serious than Arthur intended, but they still touch him.

“You were just about to behead me and now you’re offering me anything I could ever want. Are you feeling alright?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, but he looks suddenly nervous. “Yes, you fool, I’m fine.”

Merlin’s having too much fun not to press it a little further. “You sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell out of bed this morning?” 

“If I recall, you pushed me out.” 

“Hm. If you’re not recalling things correctly, perhaps I should check you for injuries.” 

As he reaches for Arthur’s head, he finds himself with a threatening spoon in his face. 

“I won’t hesitate,” Arthur says convincingly, and a slow grin creeps onto Merlin’s face.

His eyes flash gold, and the spoon flies out of Arthur’s hand and into Merlin’s. When he turns back to Arthur, his lips are parted. 

“No fair,” Arthur says annoyedly, and he sounds slightly out of breath. Merlin leans back in his seat and holds the spoon out as a peace offering.

“We’ve got a lot to do today. We have to deal with the chickens after breakfast. The day’s going to be hot and it seems like rain, so after that we can work on repairs around the house and then we can work in the garden when it starts to cool down.”

Arthur looks mildly excited. “I can handle chickens and gardening.” 

**

Chickens, Merlin observes as Arthur jumps back from another angry one, have a wonderful judge of character. 

“Damn you, you nasty thing, just let me be!” When the nasty thing jumps into Merlin’s open arms like a pet, the resentment on Arthur’s face is priceless.

“Why does it like you, of all people?” he asks incredulously, and Merlin strokes her back with a grin.

“Maybe because I didn’t call her nasty on our first meeting.” 

“I hate you,” Arthur decides, and this time, he tries to put himself at the mercy of the chickens. “Please, I’m just trying—nice bird, lovely bird. Yes, you are, a lovely bird.” He looks proud when he retrieves his first egg from the coop, and Merlin gives an exasperated sigh.

“You’re not going to be a very good farmer if it takes you ten minutes to gather one egg.” Arthur places it in the basket with his nose upturned. 

“Well, at least I managed it!” Merlin can’t help but laugh at that. 

He allots Arthur ten more minutes to gather up the eggs, and he somehow manages to charm the chickens during that time. Merlin only has to grab a few of the ones he missed. 

Repairing things, even if Arthur is inexperienced, is easier to instruct him in, and soon they’re sitting side by side, weaving together pieces of straw to make reinforcements for the roof.

The newly arrived rain lightly patters on the ground outside, and Merlin feels utterly content as he and Arthur work in silence. 

“How have you gotten through so much already?” Arthur asks, forgoing his own work to watch the hypnotic movement of Merlin’s fingers. 

“I used to do this all the time. When I was growing up, it was hard to control my magic. I blew holes in the roof all the time.” 

It’s somehow a painful and nostalgic memory at the same time, and Arthur seems to sense that. He doesn’t press it any further.

There’s a lull between them as they finish on the roof patching. Merlin sets aside the pieces to put up when it isn’t raining, and then he gets off the bench to peer out the door.

It’s still wet out, but not in a debilitating way, and the wind is a relief after the stuffy air of the house. They eat a late lunch and head out to the garden.

Merlin knows Arthur expects this to be the dirtiest part of the day, but after a quick weeding job, some watering, and the spreading of a little manure, they aren’t covered in much dirt at all despite the muddy ground. He crouches next to the beds with his hands resting on the damp ground.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks curiously, and Merlin closes his eyes.

“I’m asking the earth to imbue the plants with life.” 

Arthur is silent for a moment, and Merlin opens his eyes to make sure he’s still there.

He’s giving him a nervous look when he says, “I thought you said magic involving life and death shouldn’t be messed with.” 

Since he learned that everything Morgause told him about his mother’s death was true, Arthur has been understandably cautious when it comes to anything resembling the kind of trade-off that allowed him to be born.

“This isn’t trying to force life where there isn’t any. I’m just asking if the earth is willing to…strengthen what’s there already.” 

Arthur kneels beside him. 

“And is there?” 

Merlin’s eyes flash gold, and then he pulls Arthur’s hand to the ground and rests it under his. 

“Can you feel it?” he whispers, as if speaking too loudly will scare it away. Arthur closes his eyes and Merlin watches his face scrunch up in concentration. “Don’t focus on it too much, Arthur. Just let it come to you.” 

Arthur’s face relaxes, and after a moment, he softly says, “I can feel it.” 

Merlin lets their hands rest together for a moment, the magic of the earth humming under their joined fingertips. It seems to sense the presence of the two children born of magic, and warmth pulses in the ground. When Merlin’s eyes flutter open, the plants of the garden seem that much greener. 

Arthur inhales sharply when Merlin withdraws his hand, but the warmth remains for a long time.

“Merlin!” They both turn at the sound of a voice behind them. A woman stands at the fence, giving them a warm smile. Something in Merlin is disappointed when he recognizes the group of three women as some of their neighbors. Not that he isn’t pleased that they’re being friendly (it’s better than threatening to burn him at the stake), but he wants to have all the time he can with Arthur to himself.

“Martha! It’s good to see you,” he says, wiping his dirty palms on his trousers and doing his best to sound genuine. When he looks at her, it’s clear she’s far more interested in Arthur than him. He can feel Arthur tensing next to him, the moment ruined for him as well, and Martha gives him an almost predatory smile.

“On my life! If it isn’t the King of Camelot! It’s been so long, your majesty,” she says, dropping into a curtsey. Merlin sees Arthur give his court smile to her, and he is suddenly determined to get Arthur out of meaningless small talk with them.

He gives them a polite smile. “Yes, it has been. I’m afraid that we’re rather busy, though.” 

“What are you doing in Ealdor, my lord?” another of the women, Anna, says, and Merlin takes a step forward and pulls them away from Arthur insistently.

“He believes that we are here to better his understanding of farming villages.” 

Martha gives him a wide-eyed stare, immediately latching onto the implication in his words.

“Is that not why you’re truly here?” she whispers conspiratorially, and Merlin has to bite back his laugh. 

“To celebrate the anniversary of the signing of an important treaty, Camelot is throwing a surprise festival for the King. It’s meant to be grander than anything Camelot has ever seen, so the King had to be taken away from the castle so the preparations can be a surprise.”

The third woman in the party claps a hand over her mouth. “That’s exciting, isn’t it?” Merlin nods, and the women look at each other like they’ve just found an entire roast pig in the middle of the woods. 

“We’ll keep our lips sealed,” Martha promises. She turns to Arthur. “It was good to see you here, my lord. I hope you find your time here…enlightening.” Merlin contains an eyeroll at her dramatic tone, but they leave soon after. 

“You better not have told them I have some sort of infectious disease,” he hisses when Merlin smirks, and then Merlin turns serious.

“There’s no need to be ashamed,  _ my lord _ , that you have an incredibly catching case of  _ arrogant prat _ .” Arthur gives him a playful punch, and even if he’s trying to look annoyed, Merlin thinks he just looks grateful as they head back inside the house.

**

Hunith returns as the sun is setting, carrying with her a large basket of neatly tied herb bundles. Arthur stirs the pot of stew on the fire like it’s a great accomplishment, and Merlin doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s a task an infant could complete satisfactorily.

“The garden looks lovely,” Hunith comments as Arthur dishes a bit of the stew into her bowl. “It hasn’t looked so vibrant in a long time. I think the plants are pleased you’re here.”

Arthur tries to cover a laugh with his hand to remain respectful, and Merlin gives him a pointed look. “Don’t laugh, Arthur, she’s serious. The plants really do like me best. Something about me being Emrys.” 

Hunith shakes her head. “As a child, it truly wasn’t funny. I thought my heart would give out every time a plant grew taller in your presence.” Merlin gives her a guilty smile.

“Sorry about that.” 

“It’s how his friend Will found out about the magic, the damned plants. You were climbing trees together, and whenever you found yourself unable to go any higher, the tree would grow another limb to grab onto.”

“I don’t remember that,” Merlin says with a frown. 

“You were quite young. I was surprised it took Will so long to catch on. He always was clever.” At the mention of Will, Merlin can see Arthur looking at his hands. Hunith gives Merlin a look. “Now tell me more of Camelot. You’re always so vague in your letters. I think I’d be less worried if you told me outright about whatever ridiculous ways you’re risking your life than if you try to conceal them from me.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Arthur says unhelpfully, and Merlin glares at him. Arthur raises his hands defensively. “When you told me off all the things you’ve done,  _ my _ heart nearly gave out and I was there for most of them.” 

Merlin grins cheekily. “Aw, I didn’t know you cared.” 

“I seem to recall one instance where Gaius mentioned a goblin?” Hunith hints, and Arthur suddenly blanches.

“We don’t speak of that,” he says quickly, but Merlin turns to his mother with a wide grin. 

“Yes, yes we do.” 

And if Arthur is flushed to his toes by the time Merlin finishes his detailed description of Arthur as a donkey, Merlin doesn’t feel a hint of guilt. 

**

“You can’t steal from Gaius and not expect to be caught,” Arthur says dryly the next morning as Merlin pulls empty vials from a small bag. Hunith had left early that morning to collect more herbs with an apology for not being around more for their visit.

“I can and I will. Also, these aren’t stolen. They’re his gift to my mum.” 

“It’s not like other gifts of yours have been stolen,” Arthur mutters, and Merlin gives him an innocent grin.

“Oh, but all I have to do is ask and you’ll give me the moon on a platter,” Merlin teases, the comment from the day before still echoing in the back of his mind.

“Just—shut up, Merlin.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes but continues setting out the vials. “I’m sorry that I don’t have any farm work for you today. But these people don’t have a physician, so I want to prepare what I can while I’m here.” 

“That’s good of you,” Arthur says softly. There’s no insult paired with the comment to mask the affection, and Merlin can’t help his pleased smile. He clears off a space on the table and fetches the flour and starter from the shelf above the oven.

“Are you ready to start on the bread?”

Merlin rolls up his shirtsleeves so the pale skin of his forearms is visible. He sees Arthur give him a slightly revised version of The Look and he rolls his eyes. “Getting flour out of clothes is terrible, you dollop head, roll up your sleeves.” Arthur complies after a moment, his eyes still drifting downward while he pulls his sleeves past his elbows. 

Merlin grabs a jar of flour from the shelf above the oven. “Normally it’d take hours to heat the oven, but I have my ways to make it go faster.” 

“Of course you do,” Arthur says with a grin, and Merlin teaches him how to mix the starter and water into the flour. 

“You want to make it nice and airy,” he says after everything is incorporated, and Arthur gives him a blank look.

Merlin demonstrates kneading and then steps away so Arthur can try. He has to hold back a laugh at Arthur’s feeble attempt, far too tentative to get the job done, so he comes up behind Arthur and covers his hands with his own.

“Like this, you dollop head,” he says, guiding Arthur’s hands as he roughly kneads the dough. His fingers are thinner than Arthur’s, but they still manage to guide Arthur’s with surprising strength. He only realizes a moment later that Arthur isn’t breathing, and that they’re pressed far closer than they need to be.

He pulls away and nods for Arthur to try again. The attempt is better but far from perfect. Merlin doesn’t dare get that close to him again after Arthur seemed so uncomfortable, so he settles for slightly dense bread.

As the dough is rising, he works on chopping the vegetables for a stew and preparing some of the herbs for salve-making. Arthur watches him unhelpfully, but Merlin can tell he’s too distracted to be of much use anyway.

Sometimes, Arthur comes to Gaius’ chambers and just watches Merlin prepare poultices and salves when he has a moment to spare. This feels the same, and there’s a quiet domesticity to it that makes Merlin feel pleasantly warm.

“I’m not looking forward to returning to council meetings,” Merlin says out of nowhere after checking how the bread is coming along in the oven. Arthur groans. 

“Why’d you have to mention that? I was having a perfectly lovely time not thinking about those stubborn old goats.” 

“If you’d like, I can try to turn them into actual goats. I’m not sure if them bleating about you finding a Queen will be less irritating than them talking about it, but we can certainly see.”

Arthur laughs and rests his head on his folded arms. “So long as I don’t hear the words ‘need’ and ‘Queen,’ I’ll be happy.” 

Merlin doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but he knows the issue of finding a Queen is what drove Arthur to come with him to Ealdor in the first place and they need to talk about it sometime. 

Never one to pull punches, he asks directly, “Is this about Gwen?” 

Arthur raises his head quickly. “Why would this be about Gwen? That all happened years ago, Merlin.” 

“Oh.” Merlin searches for another reason for Arthur to be so against finding a Queen. “Have you just not found someone you love, yet? Because you still have plenty of time before you’re old and unappealing, damn what the council says.” 

Arthur sighs. “I just—I don’t want a Queen. Camelot has no need for alliances through marriage, and I already have all the council I need. There’s no purpose in forcing a marriage right now.” 

Merlin feels relieved by the words for some reason. He feels an odd sense of bitterness towards whoever Arthur may end up making his Queen someday, even though he knows Arthur will choose someone worthy. “That’s understandable.” He smiles lightly. “I’m a bit glad, you know? I’m sure I’d get lonely if I had to share you.” 

Then Arthur’s giving him The Look again, more intensely than he ever had, and Merlin comes to three realizations.

First, he it isn’t bitterness he feels towards the imaginary woman. It’s  _ jealousy _ ;

Second, that The Look, with its sad eyes and unspoken words trapped behind a set mouth, is a look of  _ pining _ , of all ridiculous things;

And third, that the bread is burning and he doesn’t have time to process that he’s probably in love with Arthur and Arthur’s probably in love with him.

“Shit!” he hisses as he grabs the wooden paddle and pulls the loaf from the stove. There’s a moment between when he grabs it and when Arthur jumps up to help, and somehow in that moment, they run into each other. 

The bread flies off the paddle and Arthur, forgetting how hot it is, reaches out to catch it. Then he’s cursing and tossing the burnt loaf onto the table, knocking through the stew preparations. Merlin rushes over to make sure Arthur’s hand isn’t too badly burned and hits his shin on the bench Arthur precariously shoved out of the way.

All of this happens in a span of three seconds, leaving the bread burnt, the stew vegetables spilled over where said bread rolled through them, Arthur with a burnt hand, and Merlin with a bruised shin.

“I mean, it could have gone worse,” Arthur says defensively while Merlin applies a burn salve to the red mark on his hand a few minutes later.

Merlin presses his fingers a little harder, making Arthur jerk his hand back. “Could’ve gone a little better, too.” He sets out to wrap the hand in a bandage.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says quietly, and he sounds almost disappointed. Merlin ties off the bandage and grins. 

“You must feel really bad if you’re apologizing. My mum won’t mind, she’ll find it funny.” Arthur looks up at him, and the realizations from before the catastrophe with the bread come back into Merlin’s focus.

They’re close, now. Arthur’s looking at him like he’s trying to get himself to say something but can’t, and Merlin finds himself struck silent alongside him.

Then he lets go of Arthur’s hand and begins neatening up the vegetables.

“Your mum should be back soon,” Arthur offers as he helps Merlin wipe up the scraps, and Merlin’s eyes flit to the door. 

“We should get started on the salves, then.”

Merlin sets out his supplies on the table and takes the bundles of herbs his mother collected yesterday off of the hook they hang on.

Arthur scoots closer on the bench when he sits. “Can I help with anything? There aren’t any hot things, so I can’t burn myself.”

“Just very sharp knives and the potential to cut off ten fingers.” Arthur huffs.

“Fine. I suppose I’ll just sit here uselessly.” Merlin can’t resist his pout for long and hands him a mortar and pestle.

“Grind this pile into a paste. No big pieces. Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I’m glad to hear your great faith in me as your king.”

“I have great faith in you as a king. Just not a physician’s assistant.” 

“I’m touched.”

“In the head, perhaps.” He peers over Arthur’s shoulder to look at his work. “You don’t have to be scared of breaking it, Arthur, you want to completely crush the leaves.”

Arthur manages not to be entirely useless throughout the rest of the day (though Merlin is sure to be very clear he is the one doing ninety percent of the work), but after the disaster with the bread, him managing to not break something or chop off his arm is impressive.

“I’m not even sure what marriage would entail,” Arthur says thoughtfully as he scoops the ground up herbs into a bowl with a wooden paddle. Merlin must give him an odd look because Arthur quickly clarifies, “I don’t know what the role of a queen is supposed to be.”

“Look pretty, warm your bed?” Merlin suggests. 

“I hardly think the council is concerned that I have someone warming my bed.” 

Merlin gives him a pointed look. “They want you to produce an heir.” 

Arthur refreshes his pile of herbs in the mortar with a grimace. “Gods, an heir. The only worse word than queen.” 

Merlin laughs. “Do you despise children all that much?” Arthur shrugs, and Merlin can tell there’s something he’s not saying because he won’t meet Merlin’s eyes. Merlin can guess what the unsaid thing is.

“I suppose there are other things a queen is. A steadfast friend, an advisor. Someone to stand by your side. Though I suppose you have me for all that,” he can’t help but tag on, and Arthur flicks a few stems at his face when there’s nothing he can say to that. 

“You would make a terrible queen, Merlin,” he says dryly. His eyes are shining with restrained laughter when he looks at Merlin again. “Though if I recall correctly, you do have the affinity for dresses required for the position.”

Merlin glares at him. “Those were for  _ other people _ , you dollop head.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Arthur replies, and Merlin sputters. 

“Everything I’ve done for you, and you don’t believe I would steal a dress for a friend?” Arthur shrugs dramatically.

Merlin’s annoyed enough that teasing him in response doesn’t seem too cruel. The bench creaks as he sits so his knees are pressed to Arthur’s. He leans in close, close enough to hear Arthur’s breath hitch, and then pulls away once he’s grabbed the pail of water by his foot.

“I’ll be by the well,” he calls behind him, feeling Arthur’s open-mouthed stare on his back.

For the rest of the day, Merlin feels Arthur looking at him when he’s not looking. Now that he’s figured out what The Look means, he feels like an idiot for not realizing before what this  _ thing _ between them is. 

This is why Arthur doesn’t want to take a queen. Because he and Merlin are finally in a place where they aren’t the King of Camelot and his manservant. Because they are equals, now, bound together in their destiny.

Merlin doesn’t know how to say any of that, so he elects to keep the revelation to himself for now after returning with a full pail of water.

It’s only when Hunith arrives home as the moon rises in the sky that Merlin wishes he’d taken the opportunity to say something before she joined them. They can’t stay here forever. Soon it’s back to Camelot with the council and the talk of queens and Arthur being the least important word in the title King Arthur of Camelot. 

He makes plans to ask Arthur to come to the field again tonight and tell him how he feels, but then Hunith starts telling him about what’s happened in Ealdor since he’s been gone, and he finds himself feeling exhausted by the time they’ve cleaned up from supper. They still have to do some washing before setting out tomorrow, and after that, they have to sleep in preparation for the ride back the next day. 

As they walk to the stream, Merlin can’t tell if Arthur knows that he knows, and he wonders for a moment if this is how Arthur felt about knowing he had magic before telling him.

After a few minutes pass in silence, Arthur turns to look at Merlin as they sit on the riverbank. “Do you ever think about what it’d be like if life were different?” 

Merlin hums thoughtfully. “I think everyone does.” 

“But you, specifically. Like if you had been born somewhere else, or to a different family.” 

“I suppose so. I’m assuming you do and would like to expound your thoughts on the matter?” 

Arthur kicks him, but then he falls quiet for a long time. “Are there certain things that no matter how many different lives you imagine having, they’re always there?” 

Merlin sees where this is going, and for the first time that day, it scares him. “Raspberries.” Arthur laughs at the silly reply, but it’s the sound of courage fading. Merlin knows if he doesn’t say something now, he never will, and then Arthur will have to find a queen and they will both be subject to decades of miserable, useless pining.

Merlin stops scrubbing at the shirt in his hands. 

Arthur seems almost sad when he looks at Merlin, and Merlin doesn’t think anymore before leaning over and pressing his lips to Arthur’s.

Everything is suddenly different. It’s barely a kiss, the soft brush of their lips, but when Merlin pulls away, Arthur’s eyes are wide as the moon above them and his lips stay parted.

But everything is also the same. They’re Merlin and Arthur, like they always have been, and nothing can ever change that. 

“I always thought—" Arthur whispers, and Merlin rests his damp fingertips on the edge of Arthur’s palm, watching his fingers curl in on reflex.

“I thought we agreed you thinking isn’t good for anyone.” Arthur laughs, but it’s a little breathless, like he’s not sure what to make of this. Merlin’s fingers leave a trail of water as they move up Arthur’s arm until they settle on his jaw, and he kisses him again. 

This time, they hold it longer, but then the current tugs the shirt out of Merlin’s hand, and he pulls away with a curse. Arthur’s laugh turns gleeful when Merlin has to half-dive into the stream to retrieve it and emerges with water dripping down his face.

“Do you want to join me?” Merlin asks, his eyes flashing gold as he sends a wave of water into Arthur’s face before he can reply.

When Arthur tries to retaliate with a wave of his own, Merlin catches his hand and pulls him down into the water.

**

On the ride home from Ealdor, things are different, but the same. Arthur has stopped giving him The Look entirely, but Merlin is considering giving the title to the new look Arthur is sporting, a look of small smiles and affectionate eyes.

“Did you like being a farmer?” Merlin asks as they near Camelot, and Arthur snorts as if the question is absurd.

“I didn’t exactly get the opportunity to see, did I?” Merlin rolls his eyes, and Arthur tries to look disappointed. “I’ve had to amend my daydream. Now I’ll have to imagine running off and becoming a baker.”

“The gods help us all,” Merlin says brightly, digging his heels into his horse and bringing the echoes of his laughter with him as he pulls ahead towards Camelot.

  
  


  
  



End file.
